Ultraviolence
by SlytherclawDevin
Summary: It is said that Horcruxes twist the minds of those around them; Harry Potter is not an exception.
1. An Ever-Consuming Flame

**This is kind of a repost. Was it even up here long enough? I don't know. Anyway, you can blame this on Lana Del Rey and maybe The Weeknd. I was inspired by this set of lyric. I found that they represented how this story is going to go, perfectly. What you're about to read, it is disturbing and if you are in any way sensitive, please don't read. I have been writing this to soothe my sadistic, obviously evil nature. I don't own any fandoms I use, the only set of lyrics I will probably ever use in this story, or anything else I obviously don't own.**

 _I love you the first time_  
 _I love you the last time_  
 _Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines_  
 _Cause I'm your jazz singer_  
 _And you're my cult leader_  
 _I love you forever,_  
 _I love you forever_

ULTRAVIOLENCE

CHAPTER 1: An Ever-Consuming Flame

Laughter filled the house-A child's laughter, a few womanly giggles followed after it. Lily Potter, formerly Evans, sat on their obnoxiously burnt orange sofa, her son, named Harry, laid on his side as he tried to avoid Lily's quick and nimble fingers. At first glance, it could easily be deducted that her son took greatly after his father. He had the dark brown, nearly black, mess of hair that sprouted across his scalp in all directions, the aquiline nose, and the terrible eye-sight that Lily knew was coming (the medi-witch had already made her aware). Yes, at first glance, Harry looked strikingly like James Potter. Everyone would agree, even more, so the father himself, for Lily believed, it fed his ego greatly. However, she would politely agree to disagree. She saw herself in her son.

As her fingers playfully dipped inside Harry's rib-cage, Lily took note of his alabaster skin, so pale, so very her. James was tanned from so many years of playing sports, specifically quidditch, but Lily had seen his childhood photos, he had always been darker-toned. With a smile, Lily knew her son would have the same struggles with the sun as she did. Of course, the obvious part, her eyes. For once, Lily could stare at her own eyes without it being a mere reflection. Since she was a little girl, long before she realized the world beyond home, her eyes had always been called a "peculiar" and "unsettling" shade of green. James had tried to find an object that could describe them, but he flailed each time he attempted, but Lily wasn't dumb, she was not an idiot, and she didn't dare pretend to be something else other than herself. They were the shade of the killing curse, Aveda Kedavra. When she was twelve, she did not understand the whispers, the weird mocks, but now that she was an adult, she realized how horrible it was, to be cursed with such eyes. Lily had prayed, to whoever would listen, that her children would turn out with James' hazel eyes, anything but her cursed green.

She had only seen the spell once, and only once, for soon after the great battle she had faced, Lily was diagnosed pregnant, and James hardly let her leave the house because of it. It had been a terrible night in Diagon Alley. As a muggle-born, she was ashamed to say, she never really saw Diagon Alley as anything but Hogwart's school supply list. She had forgotten people lived there, that their children played there, and that it was the perfect spot for a bloodbath. It had occurred in May, over forty people had been killed or grievously injured. Lily had hated herself for months-In fact, she still did. Medi-witch Prewitt had declared that she held a mentality called "survivor's guilt". The trauma of seeing former classmates dropping to the ground, two of which, had been in her year. Mary MacDonald and Andrew Brown, Mary had been a close friend of Lily's, having been sorted into Gryffindor, one of the four houses at Hogwarts. She had been dating one of James' best friends, Remus Lupin. Quickly Lily forced herself to continue focusing on Harry once more. She was dangerous when her mind went to those dark memories. She could no longer see Mary MacDonald as she once was, all Lily saw was a corpse, a cold, dead corpse hitting the ground.

Harry looked up at her, his happiness faded as he stared up at her, worried. She could see the glassiness in his eyes as he didn't know what to do, not that he should. Lily mentally swore. She felt like a terrible mother for putting so much stress on Harry, especially at such a young age (or rather at any age, he didn't deserve a mother like her...So damaged, so broken). "Mummy?" He whispered, his lip began to tremble.

"Oh, Harry! No tears now love-Mummy was just thinking!" As swift as she could, Lily came up with an excuse. James. James was supposed to be coming home soon. "You don't want to be crying now, do you darling? Daddy is coming home soon. You know how he feels about you being upset." She turned her voice into a soothing tone, motherly. Lily had learned from Molly Weasley, a woman nearly a decade her senior, that she had an aptitude for motherhood. At just nineteen years old, of course, Lily had blanched. Not that she didn't love children, she did, but she had held higher aspirations in life than to be a mother.

"Why is daddy working so late?" Harry questioned. It still amazed Lily to see how articulate her son was at his age. He is was nearly three years old, and it was obvious who in personality he took more after. Her dear Harry was inquisitive, rather than her husband, bless him, who simply took things as fact without looking into their depths.

Of course Lily couldn't tell him James was out attacking death-eaters or performing some dangerous mission that could get him killed. Lily was frantic enough about it, she wasn't going to bring Harry into it with her! Besides, Lily was a pacifist, she didn't at all believe in violence. "He is out being a hero, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said sadly, "Mummy...Daddy always says that being a good person, a hero, it's important, right?"

"Well, darling, it depends on what you think is a good person," Lily explained this easily, her mind shifting back and forth on what she should say. At twenty-one, Lily considered herself quite young, and even now, she struggled to define on what a good person should be. She had settled on that the idea was up to interpretation, and she would state as such, "Like daddy, he thinks that being a good person is helping someone no matter what, being brave and chivalrous."

"I don't think I agree with Daddy." Harry looked up at her, his bright eyes, gleaming with an unshed sheen of tears, his lip began to shake violently.

Lily placed her finger lightly on his nose as she stared deep into his eyes as if peering down into his pure, innocent soul. "Don't tell anyone-But Mummy doesn't agree with Daddy either." It felt like a heavy weight had been released from her shoulders, and as unfathomable as it sounded, she knew Harry wouldn't say a word to James, or to anyone else.

"I promise Mummy!"

As he spoke, the clock dinged at ten. Lily spoke, "I believe it is time for a certain Harry to get to bed."

"Oh come on Mummy!" Harry playfully whined. With a laugh, Lily got up and picked Harry up with her. Despite his none-too-serious protests, Harry was compliant as he dug his face into her shoulder. His face rubbing into her green cotton sweater.

"Now, now Harry," She shushed, "You know you'll be grumpy by the time Daddy gets home."

"Will you wake me up when he gets home?" Harry muttered in her shirt.

Lily rubbed his back, "Of course I will, darling."

It had been no more than two hours after she had put Harry to bed when the door to her home flung open. Lily was sat up on her sofa, reading To Kill a Mockingbird, by the muggle author, Harper Lee. She flinched and her eyes went wide as she scrambled for her wand. James never went to the front door, in fact, Professor Dumbledore had forbidden them to, claiming that it was too easy for Lord Voldemort to find them. The Fidelious Charm held many flaws, but it was the greatest thing that could protect them. It hid their location, but that was it. James could very well walk into their house, into the door, and reveal their location to anyone. However, there were few people who could enter their home, but if Lord Voldemort had access to a master ward-man, then he could break the protection surrounding their home. Luckily for Lily, she had placed her wand on the little side-table nex to the Sofa.

She grabbed it and pounced up, only to find she was pointing her wand at her beloved husband. James held up his hands, and Lily could see there was dried blood covering one side of his face. "James! What-" She stopped, shaking her head, "When did you first ask me out?"

"The first day on the train," James answered almost impatiently. His voice was stern. "Now, Lily, we must pack our bags. We have to leave. Now."

"James-", Lily began, but she was interrupted.

"Not now Lily! He is coming."

The door blasted open once more. The wood splintered into what looked like a million pieces, all that remained of the door was a cloud of wood chips. "Run! Run Lily! Get Harry and run!" Those were the last words Lily heard from her husband. Those were the last words anyone heard from her husband.

Lily found herself running, her wand was still grasped in her hand tightly. She practically flew up the steps to the second floor. She found herself sobbing, her shoulders jerking. How could she be brave in a situation like this? She pushed open the door to the nursery, shut it, and locked it. That would buy a few seconds at most. She began to push the small bookcase over the door. Another few seconds were placed in her favor. But she could do nothing but buy useless time. The only escape was the floo system in the living room. She couldn't apparate, especially not with Harry (there was no doubt he would get splinched in the process).

Harry lifted up his head and saw his mother pushing the bookcase across the door. "Mummy?" He said tiredly. His little fist rubbed at his eyes. "Is Daddy-" he yawned, "Is Daddy home?"

Lily looked at him sadly. She knew she looked frightening. "I am so sorry Harry darling." She swept across the room. She knelt down by Harry's crib, she pulled her face up to his and rested her forehead against his cheek. "Mummy tried, Harry. Never forget that. Mummy and Daddy tried and we love you very much." She heard the door unlock. She heard the book-case be pushed away, and Lily braced herself. She looked up, away from Harry.

The door then flew open, not as dangerous and bold as the front door had, but a whiff of air flew across both mother and son. "Please," She whispered. Cruel laughter swept across the room. "Please spare Harry!" She found herself yelling. Killing curse green met vivid, demonic red. "Please!" she begged.

"Stupid woman," were the first words spoken, they made Lily wince. "I do not see what Severus does. I doubt I ever will. Now, I give you one chance, move away from the boy."

"Never," She uttered. Her tears began to stop as she mustered up Gryffindor courage.

"Very well." Those were the last words Lily heard before she felt a blank sensation wrapping around her head, then, nothing. Lily's hands swept from Harry's cheek before she fell to the ground, her head hitting the base of the crib with a loud thunk.

Little two-year-old Harry watched this with an odd fascination, "Mummy?" He looked at her curiously. What was his mother playing? He looked at whom he thought to be his Daddy. He stood up in his crib and clapped his hands, trying to get his mother to wake up again.

"She is not waking up...At least not as you know her." Harry may have been two, but he knew that was anything but his father's voice. Harry whimpered, his hands stopped, and he stared at the man standing in his doorway. He recognized that what he held in his hands was a wand, Harry looked down at his mother once more. As quick as a two-year-old could connect the dots, he realized. "M-Mummy!" A wave of tears swept over the young boy.

"Such a shame, such a smart boy. Now, Harry Potter, prepare to die. Do not fret, for I will be merciful." There was only one person to "die" and it wasn't Harry.

Harry cried. He cried for what felt like ages for what had happened his young brain could not comprehend. The bad man had raised his wand, had aimed, had uttered two slimy words. Pain, unlike anything the toddler had felt, seemed to explode in his forehead. He couldn't hear the loud yell of, "James! Lily! Harry!" that had come from downstairs. He wanted his Mummy. Harry couldn't open his eyes, the pain was so great. He felt liquid slide across his forehead, his cheek. He wasn't old enough to differentiate on whether that was tears or blood.

Sirius looked at the wreck of the house. The door had been permanently dislodged. He had easily stepped into the home. The Fidelious Charm had broken. He saw James' body laid limp on the ground, right before the stairs. Sirius heard nothing, but he could smell burning fabric. Ignoring his inner pain, he knew he had to check for Lily and Harry. Dark thoughts raced across his mind. Stumbling up the stairs, he made his way to the nursery, letting out a yell of relief. "Harry!" he croaked. The door to the nursery was wide-open. Racing into the room, he noticed the ashes spreading across, a bookcase was on fire. The books melting and burning. The drapes across the wide window had caught aflame as well. He reached the toddler boy as quick as his feet could take him. He noticed Lily's body. Harry was screeching, his fist in his mouth, and Sirius noticed the blood flowing across his face, from the small cut on his forehead that resembled a strike of lightning. He grabbed at the toddler, and despite Harry struggling, he was able to grasp at Lily's body. The fire could wait. James, Lily, and Harry could not. When he stepped away from the stairs, Lily on his shoulders, and Harry in one of his arms, he noticed that James' body had been moved.

"Hagrid!" The half-giant man was holding James' body, he was about a step away from the door. "Take them both! I have a rat to kill!" Sirius shoved Harry in Hagrid's arms and gently, he placed Lily on the front steps of her former house. Hagrid could hear the rage in Sirius' voice and it didn't dawn on Hagrid that Sirius was supposed to have been the secret keeper.

It had once been a beautiful home; It had stood two stories high and when first built, had been painted a light green color. The oak wood had been enchanted to forever withstand the grasps of time, to forever block nature's fury. Those words were placed in past tense for a reason. Fire. Within two hours, on October 31st, 1982, the house had fully caught on fire. The Order of the Phoenix had arrived the moment Sirius had left. He and Hagrid had been the first to arrive, the closest, the one's prepared, for truly Lord Voldemort's attack had been surprising. Especially on the Potter's. The rest of the Order had been situated around Alice and Frank, and their son, Neville. One of the medi-wizards had taken away Lily, ignoring Hagrid's protests, and James. They did so, of course, after looking at Harry.

"We can't heal the wound-It will scar and it will be the forever," one of them had said. Hagrid had gone to school for three years, but that didn't mean he didn't know what that meant. Harry had been harmed with Dark magic and Harry will forever have a reminder of it. The poor babe.

Hagrid felt tears slip down his cheeks, they were watery, fat ones. They slipped into his massive, bushy beard. His shoulders involuntarily shook. The air was heavy, filled with smoke. It blinded Hagrid completely, filling his ears, stuffing his mouth, causing his eyes to blear and sting. A calm hand was placed on his shoulder, it was cold in comparison to the heat of the flames. "Th-They were so y-young!" He sobbed, and normally, in a tear-jerking situation like this one, Hagrid would fetch the big, handmade handkerchief from his pocket, albeit filthy, and dab it at his eyes. His hands were filled, they were tanned, calloused, and they were cradling a toddler.

"The wizarding world will miss another set of brilliant, young wizards, but dear Hagrid, their just as brilliant son yet remains in this world. And now-Due to their sacrifice, the wizarding world can celebrate!" The tone of the man, the man who had placed his hand comfortingly on Hagrid, it was melancholy, soothing.

Despite this, Hagrid jerked at the contact. "Buh they meant somthin', Professor Dumbledore, an' it feels like thuh world is celebratin' their deaths." His stutters had simmered as Hagrid's anger flared. He looked to his side and stared down at Professor Dumbledore (which if you did not know, was quite a distance for Hagrid's height reached nearly eight feet). Hagrid would never be truly angry at Dumbledore, but he looked for more condolence than resound acceptance and happiness. "And this blasted fire! Why haven' the aurors put it out yet?" Hagrid made a shouldered movement as if pointing at the house.

"Hagrid, my dear boy, it is a magical fire. They can only let themselves out. The aurors can only place wards to keep it sanctioned away from other wizarding folk, as well as the residing muggles in Godric's Hollow." His words, his posture, his face: They portrayed no anger. Only a comfort that seemed to know no bounds. "James and Lily were beloved, in their sadly brief adulthood, and in their school years. It is for certain that those of the greater good, those who are light, who can love, they are in mourning for the great loss, of not just James and Lily, but of all of the masses of deaths. It is during this day, and I am sure, for the rest of mine and your life-times, that all of the good wizarding kind shall rejoice of their sacrifice."

"I-I understand Professor," Hagrid whimpered. "Where will Harry go?"

"He has an Aunt and Uncle, in Surrey. You were sent to guard them once." Professor Dumbledore said solemnly. "He shall be safe there. Mrs. Potter and I, we had a plan. Now go-" Professor Dumbledore found himself looking at a certain motorbike, with a side-car and all. "Sirius Black." The older man whispered. He looked sharply at Hagrid. "Sirius Black was here!"

"Yes, sir Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said gruffly, not realizing what Professor Dumbledore meant.

"He should be-No matter! I will search for him myself later if I have too, now, what matters more is successfully hiding Harry. Take that bike, Black will no longer need it. I will meet you in Surrey."

Hagrid nodded, and then the light bulb in his head lit up, "That right bastard!" He then quieted down when he realized that he cursed around a child. Fortunately, Harry was still asleep and would be for another hour due to a tonic one of the medi-witches had given him. He made no movement other than his deep breathing. How could Black act so angry, so furious at the deaths of the Potters, when he was the one to bring that wrath onto them. Hagrid took the bike, and in his head, claimed it as his, and settled Harry in the side-cart. "If you could do thuh honors, Professor."

Professor Dumbledore nodded politely, waved his wand, and whispered a charm that Hagrid couldn't hear. Hagrid nodded and turned the motor-bike on. He pressed his foot on the pedal and took off into the sky.

"Professor Dumbledore! Is that you?" Professor Dumbledore turned and noticed the running girl, a medi-witch. She was Molly Weasley's, formerly Prewitt, first cousin. A Gryffindor of course.

"Yes, it is, Ms. Prewitt. What is it?"

"Am I too late? Sir, Lily Potter is alive."

Professor Dumbledore turned deadly white. "And in what condition?"

"Obliviated sir. Everything wiped. She has been declared mentally unstable for the time being. At least two years of damage has been done to her brain. We might have everything fixed by then."

Albus Dumbledore knew that the heaviness in his chest was not a heat-attack, but it was aligned with panic. This meant the ritual did not take place! Harry was susceptible to danger from not just outside the wizarding world but in himself! There is nowhere else for Harry to go, Albus tried to assure his frantic mind. There was still nowhere safer than outside the wizarding world, where Harry could grow with muggles, and see that there is no danger to fear from them. Wiser words have been thought.


	2. Freakish Mentalities

ULTRAVIOLENCE

CHAPTER 2: Freakish Mentalities

Petunia Dursley had been married for four years now and she enjoyed the duties of being a house-wife, tremendously. She liked cleaning, she liked spending time with her son, Dudley, and of course, she adored her husband, despite his many flaws. On November 1st, Petunia woke up feeling odd, strange, a tingle in the air that made the hairs on her neck stand still. A frown had immediately adorned her pale face and her eyes widened. Petunia had felt this before, she had felt the silent crackle in the air before, and she identified this mysterious force as "magic". Petunia eased herself from her bed, silent as to not wake up her husband. Her mouth was dry and tasted bitter, she let one of her snaggleteeth catch onto the thick flesh of her bottom lip. Petunia's mind flashed towards the only person she physically knew that had magic, real magic. None of those muggle magicians who played tricks on the mind, rather than actual tricks of the world.

This crackling energy, it didn't feel like her sister. Now, although Petunia wasn't magical, she knew almost too much now that she was twenty-five. She had long stood against the favoritism that her parents had shown towards her sister, she had thrown away the teenage ideals that she wished for magic, she knew what it was and she knew what if felt like. It didn't feel like normal magic. It didn't feel like the warm, ticklish sensation of her younger sister. In fact, it made Petunia deathly afraid. Petunia pulled her robe from the coat-hanger, wrapped it around herself, and slipped from the bedroom. Motherly instinct brought her thoughts to her precious baby boy, her Dudley. As odd as it was, he had been what ended the rough patch between her and Vernon. He held a tie between the two of them that had simply renewed their marriage. Petunia had been told that having a child would place a bar between the two of them, but she assumed that it was because that the other women married their husbands for looks.

Despite being blonde and blue-eyed, Petunia mentally admitted to herself that she wasn't beautiful. She had been told by her only boyfriend aside from Vernon that she was too "cold". Petunia had been fifteen then and that night had taken a long two-hour session with the mirror, trying to experiment with what little make-up she had, and being critical of her features. Her neck was long, her face was long, and her nose was long. Everything was long. The world (at least as it was now) did not like long facial features. Fortunately for her, her beauty wasn't what Vernon saw in her. It was her traditionalism, her views on things. Although they disagreed with things. It showed Petunia that he listened to her and liked listening to her.

She crept across the hall-way and into the nursery. The door still creaked only a little, but Vernon and her were still saving up to pay for a new hinge. She looked into the much-larger-than necessary nursery and saw Dudley curled up into his stuffed animals, lightly snoring. He had turned three last June. Her teeth released her lip at knowing he was okay, but if anything, the buzzing, magical sensation seemed to be getting stronger, much more worrying. Her hand went to the little bow she had made out of the thin, silky strands. She toyed with them, knowing that if she chewed anymore out of her lip it would begin to bleed and sting. Even then, swirling her tongue in her mouth, she could taste a hint of blood. She shut the door and then began to head downstairs. She needed to find out what was happening. Magic wasn't going to ruin her family! Not this time! She reached the end of the stair-way, frantically moving her head, her fingers crinkling and uncrinkling into and out of her robes. It almost hurt her head, the buzzing did. It felt like static, a terrible static.

Petunia held her breath. One of the last few letters, which Petunia had yet to respond too, had mentioned that the wizarding world was facing an evil man out to get people like Lily, more importantly Petunia. They hated muggles, they hated non-magical people enough to mass-murder them. Lily had compared them to wizard Nazis. A hint of guilt burrowed into Petunia's brain. Things had been strained between her and Lily since...Well since she had started going to Hogwarts. To still hold a grudge that had started at eleven years old, it made Petunia feel ridiculous, but she knew she was willing to forgive her sister, just as long as she didn't bring that good-for-nothing husband of her's. And Petunia had thought Vernon to be rash and hot-headed when she had first met him!

Checking the kitchen proved fruitless. Petunia had grabbed a knife from one of the kitchen counter's drawers. She held it tightly and knew it would be of no use to the bad wizards that could be coming after her. Where was it coming from? Her eyes flickered around her house. She then decided to check the living room. It got stronger, the buzzes did. She stepped passed the sofa, her head felt like a drum. Her free hand went to the two locks she they had placed on the door. The chain released, the bar noisily clanged against the wooden door, she then reached down to twist the inside-lock. Quickly, she swung the door open. She held her right hand up threateningly, cautiously, but what she thought she would see was anything but.

The milk man shrieked and he held his hands up. "I am sorry Mrs! I am just doin' my job!" Petunia looked down and found two things, one she expected and one she didn't expect. A case of bottled milk and a sleeping toddler.

"Did you perhaps deliver something more?" The knife was still raised up, but not as aggressive.

"Of course not!" The man mumbled, "He was there when I got here. I was going to knock!" His hands were still raised.

Petunia could see the sweat dribbling off his forehead. Slowly, she began to comprehend the situation. She looked at her hand, to the knife, and back to the milk-man. "I am so sorry!" She cried. This was embarrassing! She looked worriedly at the baby on her porch.

"It-It is fine Mrs! Honestly, it is early and dark. I am usually just as terrified!" The man began to back away and Petunia pretended to not notice.

She looked down at the little toddler. The poor thing. He or she was a beautiful child. With pretty pale skin, none too plump, and nice dark lashes. There was something about the eye and face shape...Something strikingly familiar. He or she was stuffed in a basket, one of their hands had escaped the blanket, his or her arm curved over a letter. She ducked back into the house to place the knife on the coffee table. Kneeling down, she picked up the nicely woven basket, and glanced down at the baby. Perhaps Dudley could use a sibling? A little brother or sister? If they were even younger? She brought the toddler inside, careful not to wake it. She shut the door and re-did the locks.

The first thing Petunia grabbed was the letter, and if she had known the contents inside the letter, it was plausible that she might not have even opened it. Her eyes scanned it. What was once acceptance quickly turned dark.

Her sister? Dead? It seemed like a wave of pure regret washed over her. Her mind went swiftly to the last times she had seen her sister. Their weddings. Both had been sour times. Her sister had insisted on bringing her awful husband with her. Petunia could clearly remember the snarky comments on everything. The food, the music, Vernon! He had been terribly rude. The evil man who had murdered Lily and her husband, had died, due to her nephew, Harry, vanquishing him. She looked down at the sleeping boy with curious eyes. Yes, she could clearly see her sister in him, even a bit of herself. Petunia wished she could have spoken to her sister again. It wasn't like she could give Harry up anyway. The letter had clearly stated bad things would happen to her family if they turned Harry away, aside from that, he was her nephew and Petunia refused to live in a permanently guilty conscious.

Things had started out fine. Petunia could ignore that Harry was magical as she would raise him to believe that he and Dudley were truly no different than each other, that they merely had talents in different things. Petunia had vowed she would never let Dudley and Harry be the way she and Lily were or else they would end up like her...Regretful and tragically lonely. Vernon had been very much reluctant at first but Petunia had explained to him that this was God's way of allowing Petunia to make up for her mistakes. He had soon agreed to informally adopt Harry, whom would keep his whole name. Petunia wished to raise Harry, not take him in as her own, that would be desecrating Lily's memory. Yes, things had started out fine. Now if only Petunia could ignore that terrible buzzing!

 ** **ϟ****

The man sat in front of Petunia. He was tall, dark, and absurdly handsome. He had pale skin, beautiful blue eyes, and the most charming smile. "Nice night isn't it Petunia?"

And his voice, it was velvety smooth. She couldn't help herself, she giggled. "It is indeed! And you are?" This was going to be one of __those__ dreams. She could feel it. It was no secret that Petunia was a fan of romance and sometimes those things simply worked their way into her brain. Not that it bothered her, no, it didn't bother her one bit.

"You can call me Tom," Tom seemed to widen his smile flirtatiously. He didn't look old, but he didn't look young either. Petunia was firm in her answer than he was around thirty.

"You have a last name, Tom?" Petunia said bodaciously, flirting back with just as much vigor.

"Hmm...Funny." He scooted closer next to her and Petunia looked briefly around. They were in a pleasant clearing, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. He held a single finger up to her lips, "It's a secret." She felt his breath on his face. Petunia almost felt faint. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She felt like a school-girl again.

Tom looked around and whistled, "You sure have a nice, pure mind Petunia." What? That was an odd thing to say. His arm fell around her sliding around her waist. He ducked his chin into her neck. He whispered closely to her, "I am going to enjoy breaking it."

Then, as fast a lightning, his hand gripped her throat tightly. Petunia found herself screaming, all the while staring into the face of the charming man named Tom. This wasn't the first dream nor would it be the last where this would happen. This became a regular occurrence for Petunia.

"Are you a demon?" Petunia whimpered as Tom pressed closer and closer to her shaking form. Despite being in her twenties, she felt like she was five. That was when Tom pulled out something from his sleeve, something he hadn't had in any other dreams.

"No, I like to consider myself worse." He sharply grinned. Petunia felt like a drop of blood in an ocean and Tom was the first and only shark to scent her. He had slipped out a wand. Petunia recognized it immediately. The puzzle seemed to fall together. The moment Harry had been placed around her home. The buzzing sensation, the nightmares. It was because of Harry! That freakish boy!

Petunia seemed to blank. What? What was she saying? This wasn't her! Harry wasn't a freak! This wasn't Harry. But even her own protests began to fall on deaf ears as Tom raised his wand and uttered the words, "crucio."

Things were fine. Were.

 ** **ϟ****

Vernon Dursley had no idea what to think of his nephew. He had never met the boy. He never felt any compelsion to, as he had met the boy's father, and was quite surprised at the man's entitlement. Now Vernon didn't like to think himself proud, no, he thought himself to be rather grounded compared to his father. Vernon wasn't his father, he was adament about that. Vernon Dursley Sr. had been a strong, stern, terrifyingly cold man who rose his hand spitefully often. Vernon Dursley Jr, formally now the only Vernon Dursley, knew his father was the reason his sister had turned out the way she did. But, even Vernon could admit how bodacious and annoying a certain James Potter was. So when graced with the prescence of his only nephew, he made sure to calm himself with thoughts that not all sons turn out like their fathers.

"Oh Vernon! We have to keep him!" Petunia flung herself into his thick, warm arms. He rubbed his hand across her arm soothingly. His lip twitched as he thought of what to do in this situation.

Reluctantly, he said, "Darling, do we have enough money to raise two boys? My posistion at Grunnings, it isn't very high."

"Lily would never forgive me if we don't." Petunia sobbed, lifting her face out of Vernon's chest. "I couldn't take it. I know she wouldn't be able to either!"

"Petunia! Lily is dead and in a better place. If she loved you, she would understand."

Vernon looked away from his wife and glanced down at the young toddler, whom Petunia had placed on the couch. The boy looked like his father in almost every way. However, Vernon could recognize the slightest bit of Petunia in him, showing their relation. The poor child. He was innocent in all of this. In the Potter and Dursley's slight feud, to the nature of the world, and the evilness of it all.

Petunia's eyes tightened, "How could you say such a thing? Don't you see! This the lord's way of giving me redemption!

"Now, darling, I did not mean it like that." Vernon attempted to sooth once more. He blinked and came to a quick, almost rash conclusion. "We can keep the boy."

"Harry." Petunia corrected. A sad smile crossed her face, but Vernon thought, at least it was a smile. "His name is Harry."

For the first two months, Vernon could say that life was okay. His job was fine and he was always making improvments to his work. As much as one could while taking note of how many drills had been made that day and how many they would reach within the month. It was boring, but it was a job; A job that put food on the table. Coming home to two toddlers was irritable at times, but happier than he thought it would be.

"Da! Ya home!" came the loud cry of the rambunctious Dudley Dursley. A small playpen had been set up in the living room. Vernon noted that his young son had pulled himself proudly up and was smiling at him from his little pen. Vernon couldn't help the wide smile that sprouted across his face. Dudley reached up at him, silently demanded to be picked up.

"Good evening Dudley. How has your day been?" Vernon eyed the room, searching for the other toddler. "Where is your cousin, Harry? And your mummy?" He sat his brief-case down and picked the small boy up.

At the mention of his mummy and younger cousin, Dudley scrunched his face up. "Mummy said Harry was bad. A fw-fr-fw-" Dudley stumbled over the word before finally saying, "fweak."

Vernon jolted, his grip tightening around Dudley. "Petunia!" he shouted, worried for both his wife and his nephew. Had Harry's heritage finally start showing up? The both of them had agreed to explain to Harry that being-well, what he was-made him no better than the rest of the family, just skilled at a different thing.

Barely, but Vernon had noticed a change within the past few weeks, specifically regarding Petunia. Vernon had been tired and had always assumed she was tired as well. Being a mother to two children, boys at that, it was long, tiring job, and it had brought immense respect to Petunia, not just from Vernon, but from the whole of Little Whinging. The thought of Petunia finally snapping, the thought of her doing something she would so greatfully regret. It made his heart throb painfully in his chest.

A sharp, child-ish cry rang out throughout the house. Vernon placed Dudley back into the pen, despite the young boy's whines. Vernon found himself running throughout the halls and into where the cupboard was. It was locked. Vernon banged on it a bit. "Harry, lad, are you in there?" Vernon shook his head. Of course Harry was in there! Promptly, he unlocked the bolt keeping the cupboard shut.

Vernon let out a gasp at the sight before him. Harry was naked. Bruises raked across his tiny frame and Vernon could make out the marking of an adult-sized, very Petunia-like, handprint across the Harry's face. A belt was strung across the floor. One of Vernon's. Instantly, the man felt sick to his stomach.

Harry's face was red, covered in snot, and he whimpered at the sight of Vernon. "Oh Harry!" Vernon picked up his nephew and cradled him closely to his chest. Harry snuggled into him and Vernon could feel the new wave of tears pouring into his shirt. "Petunia!" Vernon yelled out once more, angry, no furious. How could she do such a thing? Of all the time Vernon had known Petunia, she had never once done anything like this! She held more a temper, sure, but she would never hit someone, especially not a child!

Vernon exited the cupboard and walked upstairs, Harry still in his arms. He creeped into the nursery, slowly. He tried his best to cover Harry as best as he could. He pushed the nursery door open. He let out a relieved breath. No one was in the nursery. Carefully, he walked over to the second crib they had managed to get. He placed Harry into it. The little boy looked up at him tearfully. "Don' go." Harry cried, his hands raising up pitifully into the air.

"I'll be back Harry. I promise." Vernon rubbed his hand across Harry's head. "Uncle Vernon has to go take care of Aunt Petunia now. She's sick, Harry." Vernon hated the idea of leaving Harry by himself, especially if what happened...happened, but Vernon knew he needed to find Petunia. Vernon sat in silence for a second, listening for anything.

Dudley was playing with his toy trucks. Vernon could hear the loud clinking of the friction of the tiny wheels against the wooden floor. Just barely. Vernon had no idea he could hear that well, but the house was never usually this silent.

Then there was the clinking of glass, a heavy glass. Down in the kitchen. Vernon shut the door quietly. Harry was no longer making any noise. If Vernon were to look back, he would notice that the youngest member of the Dursley house-hold was looking at him with a frightened smile. His tiny fingers were clenching into his orange blanket, his stuffed lion sat limply by his side. But he no longer cried for Vernon's attention.

Vernon swept from the room in a hurry. He practically ran down the steps, almost lost his footing on the last floorboard, but he managed to retain himself. How could he have not guessed the kitchen? Petunia always went to the kitchen when she was stressed. This was more than stressed, however. What she had done was for sure done without reason, without thought. There was no way his loving, mostly kind wife would ever hurt someone so small, so brutally.

Vernon threw himself into the dining room. There she sat, her heels thrown in opposite directions, a wine bottle was open. Petunia looked like a wreck. Her mascara was had run down her face, already dried up. She looked up at him and Vernon felt uncomfortably vulnerable. "What have I done, Vernon?" Her voice was rough, scratchy. Petunia broke out into a set of dry heaves, there were no more tears. "I need help."

Vernon nodded his head. He had never seen her like this.

Three days after the incident, three days of Petunia living in one of the cheaper hotels, Vernon took off from work. One of their long-time neighbors, Ms. Arabella Figg, had been baby-sitting the boys at her house.

"We're going to be gone for at least two weeks. Hopefully no longer than that. The stress is just...It is taking its toll." Vernon stated, looking down at the small, elderly woman.

A cat sat, perched in her lap. Ms. Figg rubbed her hand through its fur. "The poor dear," she crooned. "I am so very happy that you asked me to take care of Harry and Dudley. My grand-nieces and nephews have all but grown up. They were the only children I could consider akin to my grand-children you see. Such a good husband you are for taking a slight vacation with your wife! I say, as I always told Lucy, a mother deserves at least one vacation per year."

Vernon tuned out her rambles. She had no idea.

"I'll miss the both of you," He whispered to the two boys. Dudley and Harry were both asleep on Ms. Figg's fur-covered couch. He leaned down and kissed both of their foreheads. He walked out the door and out to the car. Petunia had to be picked up. They were headed to a remote location, or rather, a post-martum therapy camp. It was what the priest had told them would help. Vernon prayed to God it would.

Back on Ms. Figg's couch, Harry opened his eyes. A red glint appeared and then just as quickly, disappeared. Harry felt his face scrunch up, knowing that the bad man was going to get Uncle Vernon too. And being the smart boy he knew he was, Harry had realized there was nothing he could do about it. The bad man had gotten Aunt Petunia. He would get Uncle Vernon...And then, eventually, Dudley...Harry looked at the smiling Ms. Figg. No one was safe.

"What is wrong Harry?"

Harry ignored Ms. Figg's worries. He pushed his face into the couch and let out a shrill wail.

 **I always hate how most fanfiction portray Vernon as the bad, abusive guy. I still read it, but it gets repetitive and annoying, almost as if the fandom believes that just because Petunia is a woman, she can't hurt Harry. I know, I get it. Most people don't want to see women hitting their children, or in this case, their nephews. But as I have said, if you are sensitive, please stop reading.**


	3. Fake Men and Real Men

ULTRAVIOLENCE

Chapter 3: Real Men and Fake Men

Harry wasn't naive. At the age of eight, even Harry knew that the boogieman doubtfully existed. It had too! What else could it possibly be? However, despite his young age, Harry had come to the conclusion that not everyone saw the same boogieman. For example, Dudley saw the boogieman of spiders. He was terrifying with his long, curly eight legs and hairy body. Did Harry see him? No. Of course not. Frankly, Harry thought there were much more terrifying things than spiders. Like Tom. Yes. Tom was scarier than spiders. You see, Tom was Harry's relentless boogieman. There was no other thing he could be. Harry refused to ask him. Tom hated questions and he already hated Harry enough.

Tom normally came to Harry in his sleep, not often, but the rare moments he did brought fright to Harry's dreams, turning them into hopeless nightmares. It wrought Harry of sleep for at least a week, but sometimes, when desperate enough, Harry would wish, he would pray. It didn't always work. However, for two different occasions it had. Only for a day and then when the day ended, the nightmares would come back even longer, more terrifying than before. Luckily, Harry didn't remember them, the dreams that is. He just knew that he was utterly terrified of them and that it was all Tom's fault.

So...Harry had a plan. It was a stupid one, that the young boy knew for sure, but it was all he had. Doing something was better than doing nothing at all! It hadn't been a spontaneous thought. He would have to give credit to Ms. Brown, his primary teacher. They had been in the middle of class.

Ms. Brown was short for an adult, she had light brown hair, and wore thickly-rimmed glasses. She wasn't anyone Harry really favored, but she would always be ranked higher on favorability list than his aunt and uncle. "Class, now, we can finally talk of today's lesson. Fear. We all have fears."

One of Harry's classmates, a girl he believed to be named Lisa, hesitantly rose her hand. "Do you have a fear Ms. Brown."

"Yes I do. And if anyone tells you that they don't, they are lying." Ms. Brown said promptly. There were several shocked faces within the class. Harry had presumed that he was the only one with any common sense. "I, my dear students, am afraid of heights. I don't like planes or mountain hiking. It is a perfectly normal thing to be afraid."

"My da said that a man isn't afraid." A kid named Brian spoke up. Harry barely held down the twitch in his eyebrow. That was something his uncle Vernon would say.

Ms. Brown clicked her tongue, "Perhaps. But a real man is able to accept his fears and face them for what they truly are. Now I want each of you to tell me your fears. Be honest, please."

Harry had panicked. His heart had begun to throb throughout his chest as he tried to scramble for a reasonable fear. He couldn't say his aunt or uncle, or rather, both. He just couldn't! Briefly, his mind flashed in remembrance of uncle Vernon's belt. His lower back stung at the thought. Uncle Vernon wasn't really good with his aim, not that the man cared where he hit Harry (just as long as it wasn't the face, facial bruises were much harder to explain).

Spiders. The Dark. Flying. Snakes. One by one each student went alphabetically. Harry was soon to be called upon. Across his desk, his fingers began to tremble. What would he do? What could he do? Aunt Petunia would get uncle Vernon to beat him and that was only if she was too to do it herself!

Harry blinked and nervously nodded. "I am afraid of...I am afraid of the boogieman." It was hesitant and when he said it, he felt absolutely silly. He was Harry. He was supposed to be better than the rest of the kids in his class!

The class erupted in a ball of laughter. "The boogieman doesn't exist, Potter! Did your parents not tell you? I bet you still believe in Saint Nicholas!" The same kid, Brian, laughed, literally pointing at Harry. He felt outrage, humiliation, all things synonymous with shame.

"Quiet! Everyone quiet!" Ms. Brown snapped, before looking down kindly at Harry. "It's alright dear. The boogieman is a very serious fear, but the first step is to acknowledge that it doesn't exist."

She was wrong. Tom did exist. Harry had met the monster personally. He might not have really remembered it much, but he knew it was real! It had to be. If he didn't...That would mean Harry really was a freak. And he knew he wasn't a freak! If there was one thing Harry had learned is that aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon were always wrong, he couldn't admit it out loud (that would be suicide) but he could always feel it in his heart. "Alright." Harry stated, giving a fake, reassuring smile, "I'll try."

"That's very good! All of _**us**_ should try and face our fears, like Harry is willing to." Ms. Brown said sweetly. Harry mentally thanked her, but at the same time, cursed her. Dudley was a year older than him, meaning he was in a different class, but there were plenty of other Dudley-like boys in his class. He could practically hear their animalistic snarls rising in their minds. He hated being called out.

Aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon didn't like Harry excelling in anything. It was a difficult thing to do, not excel at anything that is. Harry couldn't help it. He liked learning, he liked reading, and he liked doing. It was fun. That sort of hobby had begun to impact his grades postively. That wasn't tolerated at the Dursley household. Harry couldn't let anything make him stand out. He was a deviant, a delinquent. At least, that was what Little Whinging thought of him. His teachers, not so much.

The boogieman...Tom. Harry would have to truly face him somehow. That was the only way he could conqur Tom. Show him who was boss. Ms. Brown had experience with these sort of things. She was scared of heights after all, and Harry was sure that when Ms. Brown was a little girl, that there was someone or something that had caused her to hate heights. Much like his fear of Tom had caused him to well...hate Tom? And sleep. Harry did not like sleeping more than he had to.

The school day ended. Petunia didn't allow Dudley or even Harry to take the public bus. She claimed that it was too filthy, and that Harry was filthy enough already. Not a compliment, but Harry wasn't really going to complain. Public buses, having been forced to take one before, were a disaster. They were disgusting. Frankly, he would agree with his aunt Petunia on that subject. She at least cared that much.

The bell loudly rang. Harry shoved the papers off his desk and into his bag. It was a grey, ratty old thing that Petunia had gotten from a thrift shop. Harry kept his head down, it throbbed gently as he thought of all of the answers he would have put on his papers. It caused a twitch in his brain, to answer something wrong, to know that it would affect him greatly. But he thought of aunt Petunia's sharp nails, uncle Vernon's leather belt, and Dudley's meaty fists. All previous injuries, though plenty still lingered on his body, throbbed in an agreement that it was best if he did what he was told-and that was to fail.

"Harry...May I speak to you for a moment?"

Harry turned and looked at Ms. Brown. She smiled kindly at him, beckoning him 0ver with a casual flick of her hand. His peers pushed past him, one of them, specifically Brian, snickering about how he was in trouble. Harry felt his heart skip a beat. If he got in trouble, there would be grave consequences. "Am I in trouble Ms. Brown?" Harry said hesitantly.

"No, of course not." She reassured. "I merely wanted to talk about your grades. They have been rather poor as of late, astonishingly poor actually." She looked at him, her eyes wide, filled with some sort of pity. She pitied him.

Harry bit his lip, cutting off the iry thoughts. He didn't need her pity. "Yeah...School has just gotten a lot more difficult as of late."

Ms. Brown frowned, "Harry, you and I both know that you're lying. I don't tolerate being lied to." She tapped her fingernails against the desk. "You are perhaps one of the most intelligent eight-year olds I have ever met. Now, I want you to be able to talk to me."

"Um...Ms. Brown, my aunt is waiting for me. She won't wait long."

"She'll understand, Harry." That was when Harry realized without a doubt...when she looked at him with those eyes...He realized that this was a trap. Ms. Brown's eyes had tinted into a certain color, no, emotion. She was searching for something, anything. She wanted to get Harry in trouble. At this thought, Harry wracked his brain for an answer, an answer as to why she would do this to him!

Harry bristled, "Ms. Brown, I really need to leave."

"I can help you Harry. I can help you face your boogieman..." _No you can't._ Tom could only be defeated by Harry. After all, Harry was the only one who had made any contact with him. Not that Harry could remember it, he just knew he had. Ms. Brown looked expectedly at him, "Those people. They don't deserve a little boy like you."

"Of course they do! They're my aunt and uncle! Just what are you suggesting, Ms. Brown?"

Ms. Brown flattened her lips. "It is of no matter, Harry. I have already come to the conclusion that you are not safe in that house. I will not let you leave this perimeter until I am sure you are safe." She seemed to get up from her desk. But Harry, like a star-struck deer, looked at her for barely a second with the most fear-filled expression, and quicker than what anyone could expect of an eight-year old, he dropped his bag and took off out of the door. How did she even find out? He glanced back to see if she was following him, their eyes met, and Ms. Brown seemed to freeze.

 ** **ϟ****

Laura Brown felt anger rise up as mentally her favorite student took a few steps back, looked at her suspiciously, and she could see the fight or flee ideals rising up within him. She had seen the bruises. He was clever, but he wasn't as clever as she. Sometimes his uniform shirt would rise up just enough to wear she could see the dark black bruises layering upon his pale, stark white skin. He never showed his arms. His glasses were broken in the center and Laura could see how much he struggled with his sight. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were obviously not taking care of him and in fact, were beating him. It was despicable. Harry dropped his bag and began to skirt out of the room. Laura made a move to reach for the intercom buttom, but noticed Harry had turned around. She looked up.

A fierce red met with her timid green. She gasped. A terrible burning sensation began in her forehead. She let out a light cry of pain, her hand slamming against her head. _Foolish muggle scum. I'll make you forget. I'll make sure you never speak of what you have seen. Harry Potter will never rise against me. Never again._

Her eyes turned into a dim red, mixing into her green, her expression formed one made of pure maliciousness. She pushed back, getting out of her chair. Laura walked out of her class-room. The students were almost all gone, a few of those who were related to the teachers remained behind, but they were mostly in the class-rooms. She held up a friendly hand, waving at those she passed by, a wide smile on her person. It was almost creepy. Almost. Most of whom she passed didn't even care to glance into her eyes. Perhaps she could have been spared? The world would never know.

She stopped in the middle of the hall-way, her eyes searching around for the set of stairs. With a silent laugh, she spotted them. Whatever was in her body seemed to sparkle with an utmost glee. Confidently, she walked towards them. Laura looked around herself, searching for anyone who may try and stop her. There was no one. She walked up the single set of stairs. Only faculty was allowed on the first floor. It was the only higher level of floor aside from the roof. Unfortunately, the first floor was not as easy to avoid her fellow teachers as it was on the ground floor. The moment she stepped off the last step, a loud and obnoxious voice called out, "Laura! I have the most interesting story to tell you! One of my students, Hermione Granger, great kid by the way, she held the most interesting conversation with me. You would love it! You would love her!" It was Frank Goodman, a fourth year teacher. He was a handsome man, barely in his thirties, with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Some other time please. I have the most awful head-ache and I am going up to the roof to get some spare air. The children really stressed me out today." Laura said sweetly.

Frank looked down at her, his mouth narrowed. "What happened to your eyes?"

"One of my students got a little too enthusiastic with paint." Laura said dryly, letting out a laugh. It sounded too real and due to that, Frank bought her facade with ease.

He laughed, "I understand how that goes. That's why I moved up to year four, much more mature. A year really has an impact. Say what, I'll join you, I need a smoke anyway."

Laura's eyes darkened, erasing all of the green. "That won't be necessary." She bit out.

"Oh don't be like that Lauren. I don't have to smoke. I know how you feel about it." Frank shrugged. He let out a bright smile and wrapped his arm casually around her shoulders. The entity nearly jerked back. It briefly went through Laura's memories. It sneered. An affair amongst teachers. In class-rooms. Where the children sat, where they placed their papers. Muggles truly were sick. The Potter brat was still quite lucky to have someone like Ms. Brown. If the entity were feeling a bit more merciful, he would have let her go, but it turned out that the entity didn't exactly like mercy.

It decided to work this towards it's advantage. "Alright." Lauren purred. She seemed to push herself closer into Frank's chest. Frank took this as a means to slide his hand down her shoulder and around her waist, his fingers rubbing beneath her shirt. Giggling, they made their way to the next set of stairs.

Laura grabbed his arm and they exited out of the last door. The brightness of the sky hit them and she had to blink away the stings. Laura once again pushed herself at him the moment the door closed. Her lips met to his neck, passionately of course. Frank jolted, but then relaxed, he peered down at her. "Taking risks are we? I like it."

The walked to an area where it would be difficult to be spotted by any of the public. They settled to where they faced a play-ground enclosure. There was no one out, no one was allowed to be. Lauren and Frank were locked in a kiss. Her fingers slid around his clothed chest. She pushed him backwards, smiling in their kiss, her fingers slipped the buttons out. His shirt spilled open.

The entity inside Lauren smirked. Frank's hands were currently in her blouse. She let him unbutton her shirt as well. They stopped kissing for a moment. Frank pulled her shirt off with her help. Lauren glanced at her tanktop, and instead of just pulling it off, she pulled it down, revealing her white bra. She slid her bra-straps off of her arms and pulled the cups down, revealing her breasts. They were small for the average woman, but bigger for a woman of her petite size.

Frank pushed his hands up and groped the two breasts roughly. Lauren gave a fake moan. The two lovers were now at the edge of the roof. They were unconciously moving closer and closer to it. Lauren pushed her face back up to Frank's, she took his lips into her own, and nipped down on one. He chuckled. "So feisty today. That kid must have really put you in a mood."

"You have no idea." Lauren seductively growled. She let her hands flex over his chest. She ran her hands through the light blonde hairs that sprouted up on his chest. She then wrapped her arms around her neck, pushing her breasts tightly against his chest, and then pushed. Frank made a startled sound as he fell against the small, knee-length concrete wall. Along with Lauren's weight, they both easily toppled over the thing, and crashed towards the ground.

The red faded from Lauren's eyes, as did the rest of the life. She had fallen to the side of Frank, her hands still somewhat around his neck. One of her legs was twisted at an odd angle. Frank looked far worse than she did, having taken the brunt of the damage. His head was tilted into the ground. Blood quickly poured out into the grass. A nasty head injury. His neck was quite obviously broken.

 ** **ϟ****

Harry was able to make it to aunt Petunia's car just in time. Annoyed, she looked over at him with a deep, heavy scowl. "You're lucky, boy, that I finished all my errands today and thus have nowhere to be." It was too good to be true that aunt Petunia was letting him off, even if it was only a few minutes later than usual, when she spoke once more, "however, dinner will be served later than usual. We're having Shepherd's Pie."

That was another thing about the Dursley house-hold. Harry had yet to be deemed old enough to be alone in the kitchen by himself (and he hoped he never would) but it was a plan that Petunia had groomed him for as far back as Harry could remember. Sometimes, cooking with aunt Petunia would be the most pleasant activity he would ever be able to do with his aunt, other times, it seemed like a terrible punishment sent from God himself. Harry didn't get the option to say no. He had before, back when he was around six. It hadn't ended well. As in his back had been beaten into all shades of the rainbow. Uncle Vernon tried not to aim for his butt, having made the mistake of hitting Harry so hard that he couldn't sit on his butt comfortably, and one of his teachers had called home, demanding to know why Harry was so bruised on his bottom. The Dursleys had learned their lesson. Don't hit where people can see or the parts Harry used often. It was too risky.

"Yes aunt Petunia." Harry said obediently. He bowed his head. His heart still beat. He had left his backpack in Ms. Brown's class-room. She would call aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon. Harry would get in trouble, probably not even be able to go to school tomorrow.

"Mum! I made a good grade on my test!" Dudley boasted. Harry raised his eyebrow, but refused to make a noise. A good grade in their house was 'C'. Average. Nothing special. Harry made worse, but he knew that if given the chance, he could make it into the top of the class. That would never be allowed to happen. Ever.

Aunt Petunia exclaimed proudly, "that's wonderful Duddy-kins! I am so proud! I can't wait to tell your father!"

Eventually, Harry began to zone them out. How would he confront Tom? How could he, was more of the issue. Harry didn't even know how he knew Tom, he was just able to recognized he existed. Able to recognize that he was the boogieman whom was responsible for all the terrible nightmares Harry would wake up from. He could never remember them, not vividly. Just flashes of an indescribable pain, a fleeting, anxious sensation that sent shivers down his spine. He would have to confront Tom eventually. He knew he would.

 **TO BE CONTINUED. This chapter got too long and I was taking forever in writing in. So I am very sorry about that. Make no mistake, Voldemort or the horcrux in Harry is a terrible entity. TERRIBLE. I will hopefully be exploring it a bit more, because I mean, Harry is a human horcrux. That has to have some sort of weird side-effects. I understand if it was a bit confusing. But the first two chapters were more back-story and hopefully all things you're curious about will be revealed. Thanks so much for the reviews, favorities, and follows. I have over 130 views! It is so exciting! All the favorites, follows, and reviews mean a lot!**

 **Also, um, so I looked at the wikiepedia page. Can anyone simply explain to me how the British School System works. I am an American whose brain can't handle wikipedia's complex wording. I know, it's pathetic :(**


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